Familiarities
by static-disturbed
Summary: This was not some nameless victim. This was his baby sister in that hospital bed, his Sammy. He’d been trying so hard to save her from herself but he couldn’t save her from someone else. Centers around Don Flack, Sam Flack.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Familiarities

**Summary:** This was not some nameless victim. This was his baby sister in that hospital bed, his Sammy. He'd been trying so hard to save her from herself he couldn't save her from someone else.

**AN:** This story will probably be about 4 or 5 chapters at the most. I've wanted to do it for a while and am finally taking the plunge. Will focus a lot on Flack family drama.

**Disclaimer:** These characters don't belong to me. I wish they did. Those couple song lyrics at the beginning there belong to Daphne Loves Derby from their song 'Cue the Sun', which inpart with watching Dead Inside a few times in a row helped to inspire this fic.

* * *

_And if I don't come home tonight,  
Just know I tried my best to fight.  
Please don't think I plan to lose to the night. _

Sam never cried, he can remember that much. Daddy's little spitfire, Donny's tough talking shadow of a sister; she'd always tried so hard to fit in with them, rebuffing their older sister's attempts at girly bonding to just be one of the boys. Her knees were always scraped, scabbed over messes from riding her bike too fast, from climbing the chain link fence into the neighbor's yard and missing a step. But she never cried, just gritted her teeth through the pain, wearing multi-colored bandages like badges of honor. When Don, mostly accidentally, tore a leg off the stuffed turtle she'd won tossing bottles on the boardwalk Sam didn't cry. She'd screamed alright, suckered him good in the stomach with a scrawny ten year old fist too, but she didn't cry. When her first boyfriend dumped her for a girl without a detective father and a loud, protective Irish clan watching his every move, Sam didn't shed a tear. There had been burnt photos and crushed flowers in the trash the next morning, but no tissues.

So there in the hospital room, with the dim fluorescent light reflecting off her purple, swollen skin Don wondered if she'd cried. He wondered if she'd cried in that alley, while some bastards fist connected with her face, while hands left finger shaped bruises across her throat. Her own hands were a mess of bloody knuckles, broken finger nails and palms split with defensive wounds. Defensive wounds; Don's hand found his mouth to muffle a choked sob. This was not some victim, not someone else's little sister. This was his Sammy with a tube down her throat, with her eyes swollen shut and head shaved crudely in one spot where staples angrily gleamed at him.

The phone call had come at 3:43 AM and in his groggy state he'd just assumed that Detective Delgado from Special Victims was calling him about a case. He'd been wrong of course and it taken ten minutes of sitting on the edge of the bed, his bare feet cold again the hardwood floors, to process what he'd just been told.

"Don?" the voice startled him and he jumped, looked towards the door to find Lindsay Monroe standing awkwardly inside the threshold, letting the door slip closed behind her. She was holding her field kit.

"You need to process her," he stated robotically, pushing his chair back a little as yet again the reality of the situation settled in his stomach.

"It could help us find whoever did this," she reminded gently, taking a few steps towards him to lay a hand on his shoulder, "I'm so sorry Don, I'm so sorry this happened."

"Do what you need to do," he gestured brokenly to his sister's body, "We need to find out who did this to her."

He needed to know.

"We will," Lindsay promised as she moved to place her kit down on a chair and click it open. He watched her snap on gloves; fiddle around with little cardboard boxes. He watched Lindsay's hesitant hands on his sister's and had to look away. The sound of the wooden stick under finger nails and the harsh hiss of the machine pumping breathe into her made his stomach churn. The anecdote came tumbling out from between his lips, an attempt to quiet the sickening noises.

"Every year dad would put in his off days and we'd spend a week on the Jersey shore. Once when we were pretty young we were in the water, me and Sam, jumping waves. She was supposed to hold my hand the whole time, that was dad's rule. But Sam could never really follow dad's rules you know?" he offered Lindsay a fragile smile and looked towards the window as he spoke, "so all the sudden I realize she's gone," he could remember the panic clearly, the frantic search for the purple bathing suit and long black locks of hair, "I was freaking out, then I see her, under the water. I dove down, pulled her up. Later at home I told my parents what happened. Dad lost it on her of course but then later, later my mom pulls Sam into her lap and says 'Oh Samantha you must have been so scared', You know what she said?" he had to swallow down the lump in his throat before continuing with a sardonic, broken laugh, "She says 'I wasn't scared mom, I knew Donny would get me, Donny always comes for me when I need him'."

"Flack," Lindsay had tears glistening in her eyes, "there wasn't any way you could have known she needed you. There wasn't anything you could have done."

"I could have done something, I'm her brother. It's my job to protect her," he insisted blankly, "Look at her, Jesus this is my baby sister, I can't even look at her."

"You don't have to stay," Lindsay offered, "I'll be gentle with her."

"I know," he did, he'd known right away that there were only a handful of people he could handle working this case, he could trust enough to work this case. "I don't want her to be alone though."

"Don," Lindsay started hesitantly, "The way they found her…we'll need to have a sexual assault kit done."

"She wasn't undressed," he practically snapped, desperately begging Lindsay with his eyes, "There wasn't any sign…"

"She was unconscious and she hadn't been robbed… it's better to just know what happened, to rule it out," Lindsay had taken on police officer voice and he knew it was only her own way of keeping her emotions from betraying her.

"I…" he trailed off searching his hands for answers, "I think one of my sister's will want…let me go talk to them first ok?"

"Of course."

The hallway was buzzing with unexpected life, nurses zipping by him and the lights too bright for his eyes to adjust to. The linoleum tile was a checkered mix of green and white that he drug himself down towards the swinging doors that would spill him into the waiting room. The waiting room where his entire family would be waiting: his parents, his brother Christopher and his sister's Melanie and Kerry. Waiting for him to tell them that it was all a big misunderstanding, that it wasn't their Sammy in that room. They'd be angry and upset and sick like he felt. As he pushed the door open and felt their eyes on him, mostly all identical blue like his own, Don knew this was real. His baby sister was hanging to life by a thread and for the first time in his entire life he felt completely helpless.

* * *

**I know it's a short first chapter, let me know if you're interested in where it's going though. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Familiarities Chapter 2.**

-Static-disturbed

* * *

By mid afternoon the lab was hustling as always, techs and detectives darting in and out of labs. Lindsay hadn't been scheduled to work, but obviously the night before something had come up to make her forget about her day off. The NYPD was a family and the people you worked with on a daily basis quickly became not only coworkers but also best friends. Flack was a good friend to all of them and everyone was putting their best foot forward to find his sister's attacker.

"Well I've got some good news," she announced as she slipped into Mac's office, "Samantha was not sexually assaulted."

Mac released a small grateful sigh.

"You called Flack?"

"Yea, he's still at the hospital, he's gonna let his family know. Stella's on her way there to talk them about the mysterious meeting on Sam's calendar. "

"Ok, that's good. Hopefully she can pick up a lead. Have you found anything on Samantha's clothing?"

"On my way to layout now to start them, just wanted to offer a silver lining," she turned to leave and nearly bumped into Danny and Hawkes.

"Careful Montana," Danny warned teasingly as Lindsay rolled her eyes at him and slipped out of the room. Danny held up a red folder for emphasis as he and Hawkes stepped up to Mac's desk.

"DNA came back on the blood in the alley, Adam rushed it. Uh, the majority of the contributions came back to Sam. But we've also got a male donor who matches the skin Lindsay collected from under Samantha's nails so I'm guessing he's our attacker. No match in CODIS though."

Mac started to speak but Danny cut him off with a finger,

"That's not all. Sam wasn't the only girl in that alley; we've got another female donor, unknown. Contributions weren't as large as those from Sam but still significant."

Mac's eyebrows rose considerably and he looked back and forth between the two detectives in front of him.

"Whoever this girl is, we need to find her. She could be another victim."

"And our only witness," Hawkes concluded.

"Assuming she's still alive," Danny reminded, "or that she isn't another suspect herself. This girl's blood just as easily could have gotten there if Sam was defending herself again them both."

"Get back to that alley," Mac decided, "I know we processed everything but right now it's all we've got. Make sure we didn't miss anything that might lead us to our unknowns."

* * *

Any other time, in any other situation, Stella would have commented on the way Don and his brother Christopher both sat forward in their chairs, legs apart and clasped hands dangling between their knees. She would have pointed out that Cynthia Flack's bright blue eyes must have made it easy for everyone in the neighborhood to know which children belonged to her.

But this was obviously not the time. The Flack's had all but commandeered an entire section of the ICU waiting room, the table littered with empty coffee cups and cell phones constantly being passed around, concerned cousins, uncles and spouses on the other end of the line. Cynthia Flack was continuously placing trembling hands around her daughters shoulders, taking her boys gently off to the side of the room to whisper quiet reassurances past their fragile facades. Don's sisters, Melanie and Kerry were both in and out of fits of crying, their makeup long since smeared and washed away on their cheeks. Kerry had gone into Samantha's room when the sexual assault kit was administered hours earlier, holding her unconscious sister's hand. She'd come out pale and shaking and practically fallen back into her seat.

Don had received the call from Lindsay that it didn't appear as if Sam had been raped. He'd relayed the news to his family who had taken it quietly with small grateful releases of breath.

"This is Detective Stella Bonasera ," Flack went down the line naming off each member of his family and they all quietly greeted her.

"I want you to know that this case is on the entire departments top priority list, number one for us in the crime lab," she started. Talking to families of victims was always difficult, seeing Don in the plastic chair across from her only made it that much harder.

"Thank you," Mrs. Flack croaked, "do you know anything yet?"

"Well that's what I wanted to talk to you about. We went through Sam's personal affects very thoroughly. In her cell phone calendar she had a meeting scheduled for two hours before our approximate estimation of the attack. That's all it says, meeting. No address or any other information. I was wondering if any of you had any idea what she's referring to."

The Flacks looked at each other, shaking heads. Stella watched Don's head fall before he sighed and spoke up.

"She's been going to AA meetings, that's probably what it meant."

"What?" Melanie sat forward in her chair to look at her brother, "She told you that?"

They were all staring at Don now, expectant and confused. He scrubbed a palm across his face.

"No, she didn't tell me," he explained guiltily, "I was worried about her, I followed her one night."

"Christ, this family" Melanie sat back in her chair, "we're doing surveillance on each other now."

"You should have told someone," Donald Flack Senior spoke for the first time since Stella had entered the waiting room and almost startled her. The retired detective was a bit of a legend in the NYPD, the kind of guy you heard stories about in the academy. He'd been stoic and still, staring mostly at his hands. He didn't look like a cold person, but there was a distinct separation between him and his family, an almost visible tension.

"It wasn't my place pop," Don answered back, not meeting his father's eyes, "She was getting herself help, it was a good thing."

"I wish I'd known," Mrs. Flack sighed quietly, "I wish she'd come to me."

"We could have helped her," the senior Flack spoke again and Don finally met his father's gaze with angry eyes.

"Really pop? Because I thought you were done helping her? That's what you told her right?"

"Hey calm down," Christopher grasped his brother's shoulder, "let's take a walk."

"I was trying to save her," Don senior exclaimed and even Stella could hear the hint of regret and helplessness in his voice, "I didn't know what else to do," he glanced at Stella, "Samantha made bad choices about people, always has. You need to be looking into the scumbags she calls friends," the older man shook his head, "I knew something like this was going to happen, I knew it."

His father's gruff, almost whisper had Don on his feet, anger burning in his blue eyes as he crossed the room.

"Don't you make this seem like her fault," he warned, "All our lives you pushed her and pushed her. And then you pushed her out of your life for good. What was it you told her pop? _I'm done with you._ You're her fucking father," Stella jumped a little when Don's foot connected with one of the small side tables, sending magazines across the tile floor. A security guard came barreling into the room and Stella stood, flashing her badge and telling him they had the situation under control as Christopher moved to step between his father and brother, placing gentle hands on Flack's shoulders as he tried to usher him out of the room, "What did you expect?" the younger man shouted, resisting his brother redirection, "You quit on her!"

He shrugged away from Christopher and grabbed his coat from the back of the chair he'd been occupying. Melanie and Kerry were both crying now as Cynthia stared helplessly, flinching at the truth in her son's words.

"Let's go Stell, I know where the AA meetings were," he glanced at his sisters as he left the room, "call me if there's any change."

* * *

"Man this is crap," Danny lamented, running a hand through his hair. Their second search of the alley had proved to be as fruitless as the first time around. Besides the obvious signs of the struggle there wasn't any evidence left behind. Hawkes let the dumpster he'd been searching fall shut and sighed.

"Poor Flack man," Hawkes sighed, "I can't even imagine what he's feeling right now."

"I can," Danny scoffed, "he's feeling like putting a bullet through the head of the son of a bitch that put his sister in the hospital. Whoever this guy is, he was relentless; he beat her until he thought she was dead. He's gonna be a sorry SOB when we finally bring him in," Danny shook his head, "you think anybody's gonna say anything when that interrogation goes a little long?"

"I'm not," Hawkes agreed quietly, moving to say something else when his eyes fell on the end of the alley. He nodded in the direction and Danny followed his line of vision. About five feet from them stood a young girl, twenty at the most. She was pulling her brown leather jacket close around her body and trembling from head to toe; the crooked broken nose, black eye and bruised cheeks on her face even more discolored in a failed attempt to cover them with makeup. She was watching them with large, terrified eyes.

"Excuse me honey, are you okay?" Danny took a step in her direction and the fragile girl turned to run. Danny quickly caught up with her, grasping her as gently as he could around the waist and holding her still. She weighed maybe 125 pounds soaking wet and struggled feebly in his arms, tears beginning to stream down her cheeks.

"It's ok," Hawkes appeared beside them, holding out his badge, "we're NYPD, I'm Detective Hawkes and this is Detective Messer, it's ok, nobody is going to hurt you."

After a second she stopped fighting in Danny's arms, seeming as if she might collapse and he held her up, supporting her tiny frame with one arm as he reached for his phone to call for a bus with the other.

"Can you tell us what happened, to your face?" Hawkes questioned quietly. She blinked up at him with wide, terrified brown eyes.

"I can only remember some of it," she explained between sobs, "I remember being hit over and over. I thought he was going to kill me."

"Did you know this man? Recognize him from anywhere?"

"No," she insisted brokenly, "I can't even remember what he looked like. I was walking home… I've been retracing my steps all morning trying to remember what happened. He…" she choked on the build up in her throat and shrunk away from Danny, supporting herself against the brick wall, "He was trying to rape me I think."

"But you got away?" Danny asked keeping his distance, not wanting to spook her anymore. "It's okay if you don't want to tell us right now okay? We can have a female officer…"

"No…no he was going to and then…" she closed her eyes tightly as the memories obviously played behind her eyelids, "this girl…she came charging down the alley, told me to run. She was screaming at him… I just ran, I was so scared. I don't even remember getting home. I just woke up like this on my living room floor this morning."

"Ok honey, it's ok, an ambulance is coming, we're gonna get you some help."


	3. Chapter 3

**Familiarities Chapter 3**

**AN:** Sorry it's been long between updates. I am notoriously bad at keeping up with anything that goes beyond one chapter. Which is why I mostly write one-shots =) But I'm determined to finish this one. Oh, so I really just noticed my lack of Jess in this story which was not intentional at all. Honestly I don't feel like I know her character well enough to write. I'm going to try and bring her into a future chapter though because I like them together. Just know there was no intention to diss Jess at all. This is not my favorite chapter by far but I'm forcing it out to get myself back on track with this story. I know it's a short one but I'm working on the next chapter as we speak!! I may even put it up tonight if I can stay focused. I always say it but reviews are the best!

* * *

For the second time in less than 24 hours Lindsay Monroe slipped quietly into a hospital room. Heather Parkinson's injuries were like mirror images of those she'd documented on Samantha Flack, fortunately not as critical this time around. The girl was sitting up in the hospital bed, her arms wrapped protectively around her midsection. She was a trembling mosaic of bruises, stitches peaking out at the crown of her skull from beneath her long hair.

Heather jumped a little when the door clicked shut and Lindsay offered an apologetic smile.

"Hi Heather, I'm detective Lindsay Monroe from the crime lab. I think you met two friends of mine earlier, Detectives Messer and Hawkes."

"They were nice," Heather acknowledged simply, "But I told them… I can't remember much about what happened."

"That's okay," Lindsay promised, "I'm going to need to document your injuries though, okay? Take some pictures, take some samples from under your fingernails."

Heather simply gave a small shrug and Lindsay set her kit down and clicked it open. She retrieved her camera and brought it up, slinging the strap around her neck.

"Can you hold your hands out for me?"

As she snapped pictures of the unsteady, swollen fingers Lindsay began to talk.

"Heather can I ask you about the girl who ran into the alley, the one you told my friends about?"

"I didn't see her clearly, or if I did I don't remember," Heather explained and then almost as an after thought offered, "She sounded tough though, you know? When she told him to stop he actually did for a second, like getting yelled at like that scared him. She had an accent, like a lot of girls here have. I'm not from here," she admitted sheepishly.

"Bozeman Montana," Lindsay said simply, turning a thumb towards herself. Heather managed a ghost of a smile.

"Dunkirk Ohio."

"Heather can I show you a picture? Just tell me if you recognize this girl at all okay," Lindsay picked up her notebook and slipped a small photo from between the front pages and held it up for the young girl in front of her to inspect.

Heather's brows immediately hit an anguished peak; she looked up at Lindsay frantically.

"Is that her? I know her…I mean I met her, at my meeting, she was so nice to me" she swallowed a lump in her throat and brought a hand to her chest, "I had said how I was having trouble meeting new people in the city outside of the bar scene…she came up to me, gave me her number, said she was in the market for new friends."

"Her name is Samantha Flack," Lindsay offered quietly and Heather's small shoulders began to shake with sobs as she nodded.

"Is she okay? Oh God what did he do to her?"

"She's here in the hospital, she's still unconscious right now."

"Is she going to be okay?"

Lindsay sighed and tried to offer a hopeful smile.

"Like you said, she's a tough girl. We're counting on her pulling through."

* * *

_"I can't tell anyone. My family? It's like they're perfect and then there's me…the screw up. Uh, I guess there's one of us in every family right? And that's why my last drink was twenty minutes ago. Yea, I'm afraid. Afraid I won't make it twenty more."_

"Don?" Stella's voice permeated into his subconscious and Don blinked away the memory, forced his attention back into the present. They had silently reached the top landing of the stairs they'd been climbing; Stella was standing patiently, waiting for him to lead them in the right direction.

"Sorry," he stepped from the landing and into the hall. He remembered the address pretty clearly, had taken special note and filed it away in his memory bank the night he'd followed his sister there. He rapped a knuckle on the door and waited several long seconds before punctuating it with an announcement of 'NYPD'.

"It's open!" came the un-phased response and Flack raised an eyebrow at Stella who turned the knob. The room was mostly sparse except for a table and about two-dozen folding chairs stacked against the wall. A woman with frazzled blonde hair was sitting at the table, staring at a computer screen over her glasses. From what Flack could see she was using a computer program to construct a flyer, 'ALCOHOLIC?' stretched across the heading in large, bold print.

"What can I do for you officers?" she questioned, not bothering to even look in their direction.

"Well first of all, I'm detective Bonaserra and this is Detective Flack. We're looking for information on an assault that occurred about ten blocks from here last night."

"Well I'm Janice Fink and I'm not sure how I can help you with that," she finally glanced up at them.

"We think the victim may have attended one of your AA meetings shortly before she was attacked," Stella explained as Don reached into his pocket and produced his wallet. He reached inside and slid out a small photograph. It was a good four years old and he and Samantha were in it, smiling on one side of the pool table at O'Malley's. They looked younger and happier, but not drastically different.

"Her name is Samantha Flack," he held the photo out for her to inspect and Janice's face quickly changed as she brought a hand up to cover her heart.

"Sam? Is she okay?"

"She's been hurt badly," Flack managed, finding his throat tighten a little bit. He saw the unasked question in the women's eyes and finished quietly, "she's my sister. Any help would be appreciated."

"Oh I'm so sorry, Sam is such a sweet girl. She hasn't been coming long but she definitely makes an impression, a real firecracker that one, seemed to be making good progress too. But I'm not sure how I can help you."

"Did anything out of the ordinary happen at the meeting last night? Was anyone paying Sam special attention? Did she get in an argument with anyone?"

"No, no not at all," Janice insisted, "everything was pretty normal."

Just then Stella's phone jingled.

"Excuse me," she apologized and stepped towards the door to answer it. Don watched her retreating back for a second before turning back to Janice.

"Ms. Fink do you think you'd be able to give me a name of the people that attended your meeting last night?"

Janice sighed and gave him a small, tired smile.

"Detective, this is alcoholics anonymous, emphasis on the anonymous. Almost everyone goes by a simple first name and I don't even know that most of those are real," she sounded sincerely apologetic and sad. "I wish I could help you."

He was sighing in defeat when Stella came back into the room, her phone in her palm.

"Ms. Fink can I show you a photo? This girl was also at your meeting last night, we believe she was attacked by the same person as Sam." She offered Flack a glance that promised an explanation shortly and held the phone up for Ms. Fink to see. The picture on the screen was of a girl with terrified eyes and a bruised and battered face.

"Yes, yes she was here last night. She was new, it was her first meeting here, she's new to the city. Oh my, who would do such a thing?"

"Considering both girls left this meeting we can't help but to assume there's a connection," Stella reminded, "Ms. Fink how many men attended your meeting last night?"

"Oh maybe four or five."

"All regulars?" Don pressed.

"No, no one was new," her eyes widened a little with realization, "that girl," she gestured to the phone, "he paid her a little bit of attention you know? After she said she was new to the city he made a big deal of saying he was too, kept agreeing with everything she said. Your not supposed to talk out of turn, I had to remind him."

"Did this man give a name? Did he share any information that might help us locate him?"

"He said his name was Pete but that was all, if it's even true. He said he was new to the city but didn't say where he was from or what he did. I'm sorry."

"No Ms. Fink you've been a big help, I'm going to leave you my card, if you remember anything else at all you give me a call right away okay?" Flack produced a business card and handed it to the woman.

Janice palmed the card and reached from Flack's hand as he retreated.

"Your sister… she's a good girl."

"I know," he replied quietly before following Stella back out into the hall.

As they began the trudge down the stairs he turned to her expectedly.

"Your sister wasn't the intended victim last night," Stella explained handing him over her phone where the photo of Heather was still on the screen, "Sam ran into the alley and stopped her from being attacked Don. She saved this girl from being raped."

He was silent until they reached the bottom of the stairs where he stopped and had to steady himself against the banister.

"So what now?" he sighed, exhausted to every extreme and willing to let Stella take charge of the situation, even if just for the moment.

"We collect surveillance cameras from this entire block," Stella reminded confidently, "With any luck one of them may have caught our attacker headed towards the crime scene."

"Right," Don agreed and Stella smiled supportively turning towards the door, only to spin on a heel when she realized he wasn't following behind her.

"Why wouldn't she just dial 911, why wouldn't she just call me?" he questioned angrily, dragging a hand across his face. "Why would she just go running into something like that like she's invincible, not even think about her own good?"

Stella smiled gently and placed a hand on his arm.

"My guess? She learned from example."

Don knew he was heavy and awkward but when he let his shoulders sag and head fall to Stella's shoulder she held him up with unwavering strength.


End file.
